Touch the Nerve
by kkolmakov
Summary: Modern AU. Wren from previous stories is torn between the modern reincarnations of the Heirs of Durin. Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The story grew out of the "Camping" chapter of "We Are Scattered Through Time and Space" *No Infringement Intended*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I finally gathered enough courage to plunge into this AU. I feel like it will definitely do a number on my nerves (puns, oh puns:) as I get very grave angsty vibes from it. But I just can't say no. The first three chapters are pretty much the reworked one-shot from "We are Scattered Through Time and Space" based on "camping" prompt. Look through it though, even if you've read it. There is more Fili in it :) **

**A/N#2: Which brings me to the second thought. He is just so delectable! My little ball of sunshine :) If Thorin doesn't behave in this one, and he is a hell of a mistrusting grouchy jerk here, he might for once NOT get the girl! In my mind he is way too mean to Wren! Votes accepted! You might still influence the destiny of this romance :)**

**XXX**

Have you noticed that if you are wearing earphones, everything around you turns into an indie film? At least if there is a connotative dissonance between what you see and what you hear. The student lounge and Maria Callas' "Si. Mi chiamano Mimi" create the most gorgeous, absurd pandemonium. So-and-so is groping his girlfriend, so-and-so is dumping his boyfriend, someone is chewing, someone is staring into a laptop and ruffling their hair in an attempt to stimulate at least a bit of brain activity. And Mimi, the embroiderer is sharing her simple lifestory. Jean Cocteau is nervously biting his nails in envy, sitting somewhere on a cloud.

Philip Durinson is sauntering in the lounge, and you consider hiding under your desk. You really have no time for this right now. You recognize the gleam in his eyes. It says, "Where is Wren? Let's drag her into some new barmy adventure. She just loves it, judging by her panicked yelling and flailing arms." He is strutting to your table and with a swanky twirl of his wide muscular body he slides on a sofa near you. That is so not good! "Hello, love," he places his usual fluttering kiss on your cheek and peeks into your laptop.

"What's that?" "You would know if you'd actually studied for your OrgChem." "I bloody aced my test!" "Only because you crammed the night before, on three energy drinks and five espressos. And twenty minutes after the test you head was empty again." "You know me so well, darling!" He gives you his best white-toothed grin and steals a crisp from your package on the table.

You love Phil. He is hearty, light, sunny, all golden mane and laughing eyes. Sometimes you think it would have been so much easier if you were in love with him. But then you would shag for a while and it would end badly. And it is even hard to predict, based on the previous record, who would dump whom. But then again, for a while you would have an excuse to touch him. Because you really want to. All the time. He skin is always warm, he smells so nice, and you just want to curl into him and snuggle. It's probably all the abandonment issues and lack of affection in childhood.

"Alrighty, love, how about that? Trip to the swamps!" He looks very pleased with himself. "Is it a name of a colouful cocktail with a high content of booze in it?" "No," he is laughing loudly, fluffy lashes hiding the blue irises. "Then I'm not interested." "Common, Wren," he is whining. It should be annoying, but somehow it's adorable. Plonker! "It's a family thing. Everyone from the uni goes, their parents join, pops watch birds and talk shite, and then there is the bonfire!" He is making puppy eyes. Let's face it, his are not that efficient as his brother's. "No." "Did I mention there is booze, everyone dances, mother bloody nature." "I don't do mother nature." "Please?.." He is clasping his hands and making a begging gesture.

You feel bad. Because really you have been ignoring him recently, for a while already. The tests, the labs, and then you are just so tired all the time. You think how great it will be, both him and his brother will take care of everything, and you will feel like they bundle you up in this warm blanket of caring and fussing around you. They will be making sure you are having a great time, feed you, tuck you in. Alright, maybe not tuck you in. "Where am I going to sleep?" "Yes, she said yes," he jumps on the couch and makes his best impersonation of Tarzan. The lounge is roaring with laughter, happy with any distraction from actual work.

He jumps off the sofa and then suddenly picks you up and starts swirling you, bridal style. "Are you bonkers?!" You are laughing now, "Put me down, twat!" He speeds up and you squeal and wrap your arms around his neck, and he is guffawing now. "I'm taking you shopping, love!" You skeptically lift a brow. "We need wellies for your tiny sexy feet." You look at your feet and feel slightly dizzy. "Why?" "It's a swamp, remember?" Bloody hell, what did you agree on?

**XXX**

You fall into your dorm, bags so heavy that they are hurting your shoulders. "What in the name of?.." Your friend Thea jumps off her bed and helps you to put your stuff on the bed. "Phil took me shopping." "Tell me it's lingerie." She sticks her nose in one of the bags. She is a long time advocate for you two finally having it off. "It's not. And I paid for it myself." She pulls your new pair of wellies out of a bag and wrinkles her nose. "Unless it's his kink, I don't want to know." "We are heading to the mansion for the weekend." "Just the two of you?" She is wiggling her brows. "And a half of uni. All the posh ponces. Apparently some traditional bonfire or something." "Oh, I've heard of it. The Bonkfire!" You are starting to doubt the wisdom of your decision.

Thea is "scum", just like you. It means poor. And that her family name isn't engraved on one of the marble boards decorating the stairway in the Central Building. Durinsons were among those who founded the uni. And their uncle's portrait is in the library, it's huge. He also apparently paid for the renovations of one of the buildings and for the Japanese garden on the roof. Pretentious nob twat!

"I thought you are not going there anymore," she now pulls out a pair of thermosocks from the bag. "I haven't spent time with them for a while, I feel like a bad friend." "You know what would make you a very good friend to them?" You think you know the right answer. "Let me guess, you are going to propose a threesome. Again." She gasps in fake shock. "Wren, well I never! I'm sure he wouldn't want to share you." "Who he?" She rolls her eyes.

Thea is wrong. On both accounts. Phil would share anything with his brother. They have these rare relationships you envy endlessly but feel a bit creeped out by at the same time. They are always together, Phil being an overprotective older brother, meddling into Killian's life too much, Killian asking him for advice on everything. Those two weeks that you sort of dated Killian, you wondered if he asked Phil's advice on that too.

Secondly, sleeping with either of them would make you a bad friend. Neither is harbouring any feelings for you, you can't say you fancy either romantically, so it would just botch your friendship up. And you love spending time with them.

"I was going to suggest you stay there for a week," her tone is serious and you look up at her. "You are all daft and jittery recently, with all the work. You love their Mom, spoil yourself a bit." You think of Deadre Durinson and sigh. That is person you could spend more than a week with. She is funny, kind, and supportive. Everything a mother should be. Or at least you assume so, you never had one.

"Is it because you want the room all to yourself for the next week?" "I will utilize it, of course. But I'm mostly worried for you," you give her a hug. She is a good friend in all honesty. "Thanks, pet. I'll let you know how it goes."

**XXX**

At six o'clock in the morning Phil and Killian knock at your door. You are stuffing your toothbrush in a bag, and Thea rushes to open the door. They give her a synchronized bow, and she guffaws. "Oh glorious Thea, what a gorgeous flower you are!" Phil is announcing in his best debonair voice. She smacks his chest. They tried it the first year. According to Thea, the spark just wasn't there. You speak Thea-ish well enough to know it means they shagged all through the night like bunnies but didn't feel like round six in the morning. And that's a no in her dictionary.

Killian helps you with bags, and you immediately fall asleep on his shoulder on the back seat. You open your eyes already in the mansion. A large crowd of their friends is already there, their older relatives slowly arriving, everyone gets loaded in seven Land Rovers. You get squeezed between Killian and a girl you've only met once before. She is the Dean's niece, and the diamond on her finger is the size of Mount Vesuvius. It would be a pity to lose it in smelly swamp water, you think vengefully. She is chatting with Killian over your head all though the ride, and you think you need a migraine medicine by the end of it.

The tents are for two people, and somehow it is assumed you are sharing yours with Killian. You guess you are sort of familiar with each other. He spent a couple nights in your bed, but you never actually got to sex. The whole thing was about him being heartbroken, and you being stupid.

The day passes in decorous picnics, bird watching, and there you thought Phil was joking, and fishing. When it gets dark, the younger lot finally gets their fun. The apparently long awaited bonfire time comes. It is roaring, flames are seemingly licking the sky, and you are awed.

The only problem arises when you realize that bonfire means bewy and skinny dipping. Neither of the two interests you. You can't drink, pretty much losing consciousness after three shots, and even more so you are not looking forward to what you understand is an advertisement of available goods. When everyone starts talking too loudly and walking unsteadily, you sneak away and go back to your tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**XXX**

In the middle of the night while the noise of the bonfire party is still rumbling through the woods, you wake up because you desperately need to pee. You wander out of the tent clad only in flannel PJs and wellies. Unfortunately alcohol consumption usually triggers promiscuous behaviour in youth, and all bushes around the campsite seem to be occupied by two, sometimes three, people, and after learning three new sexual positions you are desperate. The swamp and the woods frighten you, but the nature calls. You venture into your quest.

After twenty minutes of walking and finally in a state of a complete bliss from your bladder finally empty, you realize that you are lost. Not completely, you more or less know where to go, the noise of the bonfire still echoing between the trees, but you suddenly realize that you are separated from the hostile environment of the wild nature by a flimsy cotton material of your polka dot pajamas. You carefully tread between the trees, constantly feeling that something is stretching its furry paws to get you. Then you catch a face full of spiderweb and shriek. Your own voice frightens you even more, and you dart sideways. Your foot gets stuck in an especially gooey muck and you frantically pull it out. You know you are being unreasonable, but you are shaking and sprint towards the fire you can see between the trees ahead.

Two things happen at the same time. You see a tent, erected under a large oaktree, and something grabs your leg. It is wet and scratchy, and you squeal. All decorum forgotten, you shake off your boots, grab the zipper on the tent and jerking it open you jump inside. You pull the zipper up and freeze with your hands pressed into your chest. At this stage you don't care even if inside of this tent you will find the Dean of your Faculty. You won't, his tent was green. You are not going out there again.

**XXX**

"Are you lost?" The sleepy voice of John Thorington startles you, and you jump up with a yelp. The tent wobbles, and you stare into the darkness. Your eyes are used to the night already so you can guess the outline of his mane and wide shoulders. His cologne assaults your senses. Who actually puts any on when going to spend a night on a swamp? Doesn't it attract all kinds of stinging, blood sucking monsters? Or does it repel them? Your knowledge about camping is simply pathetic.

You will never confess it but you recognized his voice even before you could see who was inside. You attended all his guest lectures and watched his TED talk hundreds of times. He is Phil and Killian's uncle, Deadre Durinson's brother. He is brilliant. A renown neurosurgeon, he practices all around the world, travels a lot and his short visits rarely coincide with the occasions you are invited to. You suspect that he is avoiding crowds. You have seen him so to speak in flesh twice. Once he arrived when you were already leaving the mansion, you shared a breakfast. He was jetlagged, and you are still not sure if his haughty silence is his customary treatment of the likes of you or you somehow repel him on a personal level.

The second time you saw him was in a more official environment, during the Honourary Dinner at uni. You follow Sherlock Holmes' approach and delete the memories of his massive strong body clad in a dinner jacket. You have a tuxedo kink. If a sexual fantasy also included his blazing blue eyes and an exotic luscious ponytail, an orgasm following it would probably incinerate you.

"Something touched my leg," you breath out as if it is supposed to explain him everything. He is lying on his back, propped on his elbows in futile attempts to see you better. "I am Wren, Wren Leary." "I know who you are." That's a surprise. "What I do not understand is what you are doing in my tent. Shouldn't you be in Philip's?" "I'm actually sharing one with Killian." "You are dating him now?" Is it disdain in his voice?

"No, I'm not." "So whose tent were you looking for?" "I wasn't looking for anyone's tent. Either would do, to be honest, at this stage." You certainly feel that didn't come out quite the way you planned it to. "I mean, I'm not dating either of your nephews, sir, don't worry." "Why would I worry?" Because the likes of John Thorington do not approve of the likes of you shackling their sons and nephews. "What I meant is that I got scared outside and any familiar face would be welcome right now." "I am familiar." Bloody hell, is he flirting? Of course not, you are obviously misinterpreting.

You both are silent for a bit and then he sits up. You have never realize how massive his torso is. He has the same body structure as Phil, wide shoulders and broad chest, but he is two heads taller. He takes up all room in the tent, and you suddenly feel trapped. Nonsense, you intruded on him and can just leave. On the other hand, whatever is out there might still be scarier than John Thorington. You look at him sideways. His extraordinary hair is loose, like a curtain of glorious wavy sexiness. Shut your gob, treacherous libido!

"What did you say about your leg?" His velvet voice sounds irritated. You should assure him it was nothing, politely excuse yourself and leave. But whatever attacked you might still be there. "I was walking back to my tent and felt something grabbing it." He sighs and starts rummaging in his sleeping bag. After a few seconds he finally finds his mobile and lights up the screen. You blink from sudden light and seeing his face, with peevish scowl and drawn brows, so close in front of you. "Let me see." He definitely sounds irritated. You are hesitating. With another exasperated sigh he shoves the phone into your hands and suddenly grabs you under your arms. He pulls you closer, you are practically on his lap, your legs across his, and his deft fingers encircle your ankle. You squeak. "Does it hurt?" "No." You feel like a idiot. He gives you a sideways glance. Then he picks up your leg and examines first the foot and then the calf. The PJ pant is torn and dirty. "You probably tumbled over a root, I don't see any injuries." Your calf in in his palm and he is rubbing it slightly. "Does it hurt anywhere?" "No, it's fine," you suddenly realize that he isn't stopping, his scorching palm is brushing your skin through the hole in the pant.

The silence stretches, and it is quite a tense one. His thumb slips inside the gap in the fabric, and he draws a slow circle on your skin. That is definitely impossible to misinterpret. You breath in slowly and make your decision.


	3. Chapter 3

You consider leaping ahead and just kissing him, but the game seems to be going by different rules. One of your arms is wrapped around your middle, since you were subconsciously shielding yourself as he was so obviously apprehensive. Your other hand is near his palm splayed on the floor of the tent. You slowly reach for his wrist and slide your fingers up the inner side of his forearm. You let your nails scrape the skin slightly, and you think you hear his breathing hitch.

He lowers his face to your neck and for a slip of a second you feel his hot lips on the side of your neck, behind your ear. Then you feel him smile into your skin, goosebumps quickly covering your whole body. You tilt your head allowing him more access. He brushes his nose along your throat. And then suddenly he moves you off his lap. You tense, but then realize that he is unzipping his sleeping bag.

It is open, and he is lying back, one arm open, another one supporting the flap of the sleeping bag. The invitation is quite clear. You bite your lip and then slip into his embrace. He closes the bag and smirks. "You will have to zip it up if you want to stay warm at night." You push one arm out of it and clumsily pull the zipper as far up as you can.

You two are pretty snug in the bag. Do they come in different sizes? This one seems to allow you both to be pretty comfortable inside, although you are mostly lying on him, pressed into his right side. You gingerly place your right hand on his chest and feel the soft fabric of his henley. He pulls you closer and you place your temple below his clavicle.

The erotic tension of a few seconds ago is gone, and you relax into the heat and fresh grassy smell of his skin. His breathing is even, heartbeat steady. You close your eyes and soak in the moment.

He is an amazing presence, strength and confidence radiating from him. You feel safe and sheltered. You don't want to think of the world outside the warm bubble you are in, you don't want to worry about tomorrow's morning coming and bringing the harsh light over your sleeping arrangements. You breathe him in and understand why they call physical intimacy "to know someone in a Biblical sense." The physical closeness allows you to know a person better than a hundred conversations.

His fingers tread through your hair and you feel him pulling out the pins holding your messy bun together. The dexterity of a surgeon is a magical thing, it allows you to pull out twenty eight pins while a girl's head is weighing your shoulder to the ground. His other hand covers yours on his chest and the thumb is rubbing your knuckles.

The strokes of his fingers are increasingly sensual, and you wonder if he can cause this much hunger inside you by lightly touching your hand with his fingers, what can he achieve with two hands? His mouth? His whole body? You take a shuddering breath and slide your hand from under his. And then you place it on the waist of his shirt and decisively slide it underneath. He sucks in air, and you feel triumphant. You are not a flustered girl he can play with. You splay the hand on his abdomen.

He pulls his torso from under you and rolls over you. Finally! He is deliciously heavy and hot, and he lowers his lips on yours. You have never been kissed like that. He is possessive, passionate, demanding. The cliche of "claiming your mouth" flashes through your mind. He slips his palms under your shoulder blades, and you arch into him. You wrap one leg around his waist and rub your pelvis into him

He groans and moves to your neck. He gives your throat a long scorching lick, and you moan. His hands are on the buttons of your PJ top, and he follows up every opened one with a kiss on your thorax. Your top open, he takes your nipple in his mouth and you claw at his shoulders. His tongue swirls around it and then he slightly bites it. You wrap the second leg around him. Your underwear is drenched, and you just want him inside of you.

He is apparently taking it slow. He is busy with the second breast when your patience snaps. You push your hand between your bodies and squeeze his erection. He hisses and bites hard. Good, enough of this unwavering smug self-control! You press your pelvis into him and cup his face. You force him to look into your eyes and suddenly you feel so powerful. His body on yours, his lips on your skin, his hot cock pressed between you two, it all feels right and you give him a predatory smile. You catch his mouth in a bruising kiss and push his tracksuit bottoms down with your feet. It's a very neat trick you learnt with a high school boyfriend, they never see it coming. You just have to be careful not to jerk them too sharply. He gasps into your mouth, and you close your palm around his cock.

Fucking hell, he is big. Not just big, you think it might actually hurt. But you are so wet and livid with lust that you just might be OK. Anyways, you are not stopping now. "I am on a pill and clean," you murmur in his mouth. "I don't sleep with women without a condom," he is panting and shakes his head. You assume that the long energetic strokes of your hand on his cock are slightly distracting. "Do you have one?" He is breathing through a wave of pleasure that shudders through his body and shakes his head. "You?" "Why would I? I wasn't planning on any adventures." He snorts and then lifts burning eyes at you. "Then we will have to solve our problems separately."

He takes your hand and gently removes it from his twitching cock. Then he catches you mouth and slides his hand into your PJ bottoms. The apt fingers find your clit and he gives it an experimental swirl. You moan and spread your legs wider. Oh, he is good! In most cases you need additional oral stimulation but he makes you come in a few seconds with just one finger in you. Given he has very large hands, you would usually need two and some tongue.

You are panting though your orgasm and he is lazily kissing your neck and collar bones. Your turn. You roll you two over as much as it is possible in the sleeping bag and slide down his body. You are small enough but there is another problem. You will probably faint inside the bag from overheating if you have to give him a blowjob without opening it. But you already hear him unzipping it. How considerate of him!

The task at hand is going to be laborious. His cock is not only large, the width is also beyond impressive. It has a whimsical curve, as if it is slightly pointing right and you giggle. He lifts a brow at you. You just can't help it and tilt your head to match the angle. He drops his head on the ground and chuckles. Some snarky remark dies on his lips when you take him into your mouth and give him a long strong suck. He clenches his fists.

In a few seconds you have him completely unraveled and growling through his teeth. You are taking him deep into your throat, bobbing your head and massaging his testicals. When you were sixteen you could not understand why Thea was so enthused when in some medical journal you read that squeezing your thumb in your fist apparently turns off you gagging reflex. Now you find this information very useful.

He pushes you off him and comes with a loud groan. You help him through it with your hand, pressing your lips to his hipbone, and he is taking shaky breaths. He is coming down from his high and starts laughing. It is your turn to cock a brow. He rubs his face with his large palms and speaks in a shaky raspy voice, "I don't know why I'm laughing. I guess it's just been awhile." He grabs a towel from a bag nearby and cleans up. You are waiting till he pulls his bottoms up, and then he opens his arms for you again. You nest into his side and he zips up the bag. Then he lifts your face with his finger and looks into your eyes. You smile to him and then can't hold back a yawn. He smirks and kisses you tenderly. He is still smiling into the kiss but you already drift off.


	4. Chapter 4

You are waking up slowly, in a warm circle of his arms. You don't jerk up, or jump up, shielding your heaving bosom like a deflorated maiden. You are not in a romantic comedy, you precisely remember how and with whom you fell asleep. He is still out cold, long thick lashes resting under his eyes, a crinkle between his brows. Is he that peevish even when sleeping? A large hand is resting near your face, and you admire the fingers. Forget the mind-blowing looks and the bedroom skills, he is just bloody brilliant! You watched a tape of his surgery. It was better than porn. In OR he is God! You would shag him even if he looked like Gerard Depardieu, and not the young hunky version. Brainy is the new sexy.

The fact that he is so gorgeous obviously helps. The straight prominent nose, sensual lips, the beard, and that bloody mane! They all have it, some sort of family tradition. Phil's golden waves are soft, going down to his shoulders, and he braids a few strands behind his right ear. Once you became comfortable with him, the first thing you asked for was to touch the hair. He guffawed and bent down. You grabbed handfuls of the liquid sunshine, and you have to admit the feeling is purely orgasmic!

Killian and his uncle share the same deep dark shade, but to make matters worse Dr. Thorington has silver strands above his forehead and on his temples. And his hair is heavy, slick, as if spilling through your fingers. You had a good sample yesterday.

He stirs and opens bright blue eyes. "Morning," you smile, and in his face you immediately see the one sensation that occupies his brain right now. Regret. "Morning," his voice is gruff. You let him gather his bearings. He is definitely planning to get rid of you, but no one said you are supposed to help him with it. Bugger, that actually stings. Is he going to throw you out of his tent or he is letting you down gently? Common, you arse, which line is it going to be? It's not you, it's me? "Miss Leary…" Glorious! You dirty fuckbag!

You jump up and start climbing out of the tent. "Wren…" he tries to stop you and grabs your ankle. You kick him, hoping to hit something essential. Fucker! "Get off me, you tosser," you jerk your foot out of his hand and unzip the tent. You are hurriedly pulling on your boots, when his disheveled head sticks out. "Please, don't make a scene!" His voice is hushed.

"I assure you, Dr. Thorington, letting people know where I spent the night is the last thing I want," you are hissing through your teeth. His nostrils flare, but all together you can't read his face. "Bollocks, if only it was at least worth it, I mean this humiliation for a mediocre rodgering! God, you are such a wanker!" You start stomping away.

You reach the clearing with the ashes of the bonfire. Bollocks, what are you going to say to Kilian?! Why you didn't come back to the tent. God, hope they weren't looking for you. You should have thought of it yesterday, Wren. People are sitting on logs, mostly the responsible adults since it is still pretty early and most of the kids are comatose. You see Phil with a mug of coffee, fresh and smiling as always, chatting up some blonde. Kilian is nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly you feel like crying. And you also feel like running to him and hugging him. What is wrong with you? You are not that kind of friends. Also, that's the last thing you should do now. It is his uncle, and you obviously should just behave like nothing happened! Bollocks, everything starts to look blurred, and you painfully bite the lower lip.

You see Phil lifting his laughing eyes at you, and then he sees your face. He pats the blonde's lap, excuses himself and strides to you. He spins you to face away from the crowd and wraps his arm around your shoulder. He starts walking you away from the clearing, and you are shaking. Keep it together, Wren. Nothing happened, and the shite you are in is your own fault. And no one should ever know… "Common, common," he is murmuring and pressing you into him.

When you are far enough from the crowd, he stops and turns you to face him. "Wren, what is it?" Oh, you just can't do it. You press your face into him and sob. He is stroking your hair, pressing his cheek into your crown. "It's alright, love, it's alright. Just tell me what's wrong." "I just don't know..." You are hiccuping and feel like a plonker. "I'm sorry… I don't know what's wrong with me..." He wraps his arms around you and kisses your hair. "It's alright, it's alright.."

You stay like that for a while, and your hysterics subside. Now you feel embarrassed. You step away staring at the ground, and wipe your eyes. "Listen, Phil, I'm sorry I don't' know what's wrong with..." And then he roughly cups your face and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is mind-blowing. You are obviously all wound up, from last night and the crying, and it feels like an electric shock runs through your whole body. His short beard is scratching your face, surprisingly coarse considering how soft his hair is, and his palms are hot and gentle. He is stroking your jaw with his thumbs. You are still frozen, your arms hanging on the sides of your body. And it still feels like you two are making love. And then you push him away.

"What the hell?!.." You are panting. He steps back and stares at you. If he jokes it off, you are going to end him. You already felt like a cheap slapper today, that's enough humiliation for a year. He is breathing heavily, lips slightly open.

"I am sorry…." "Fuck, what is wrong with you?!" You feel like punching him. "I shouldnt have… You were crying, and it just happened..." "What?! Does crying turn you on? Or is it your idea of panic attack management?!" You shove him. And then again. You know it's not him you are angry at. But you just can't stop. It seems to be your motto this weekend.

He lowers his head again. "I am sorry..." "Stop apologizing for kissing me!" "I am not! I am apologising for the timing!" You both freeze and stare at each other. "You are upset, and I made you angry..." "I am not angry that you kissed me, I am angry you tried to take it back!" Please, please, just kiss me, I want to forget it all, that I feel like a cheat slut. Just turn it off!

He steps ahead and catches your mouth again. This time you are reciprocating, hands in his glorious hair, you push your tongue to open his lips. He is grabbing your shoulder blades, presses his heated body into you, and you feel his thumping heart through his jumper and your PJ.

And then you remember why you are wearing PJs. And that there is a hole in your pant on your calf. And why your knickers feel so sticky. You moan into his mouth to stop him, but he deepens the kiss and moans himself. All your thoughts are out of your head, sublime warmth spreading through your body.

"Well, hello you two!" You jerk away from him, but he is holding you tight. For a second you panic, what if… But then you see it's just Killian. And then you panic again, because it is Killian. He is smiling, and Phil is returning a grin. He probably feels so proud of himself right now! Please, please, shut up, dont' say anything! Don't ruin it for him!

"And I was wondering where our little Wren spent this night! Congrats!" He lifts both his hands expecting a double high-five, from both of you. But Phil lets you go and steps back. His arms slack, and he is staring at you. Your face is burning, you clench your jaw, and close your eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thorin is leading. John vs Phil 4:1 so far :) **

**A/N #2: I'm counting votes, not voters, since the "Guest" reviews are a bit confusing. But I actually think they are left by the same WONDERFUL person. Thank you, anonymous reviewer! It really helps to get feedback. So vote, my lovelies! Feel free to issue demands too, the plot is your b**** :) **

**This fic seems to be very organic, fluid, I don't seem to have all the answers yet myself. I know the events and the structure but I'm really not sure whom Wren will chose. Mwahahaha! *evil laugh accompanied by rubbing hands***

You lift your eyes at Phil. His jaw is tense. And then you feel very, very angry. Bollocks with it, you don't owe him anything. "Listen, Phil," he raises a hand, stopping you. "Just don't," he is not looking at you and turns away to leave. "Oh, don't give me this shite!" You are yelling but it is so past your limit of patience for one day. "I'm not asking you where you spent this night. What tent you were shaking last night! Don't you dare judging me!" He spins on his heels. "I was comforting you, Wren! I thought some ponce offended you or something. And you are just... from under some wanker!" You slap him. "You have no right!" You are screaming into his face. "You are not to talk about keeping it in your pants!"

He snarls and starts leaving. Killian is frozen with his hands still half lifted. He looks at his brother's back. "Don't you dare walking away with your tail between your legs, Killian! You are my ride, and it has nothing to do with you." You pin him with a stare and he nods. "Let's get back."

**XXX**

You enter your dorm, and since you forgot to knock, you walk on Thea riding some guy. You quickly turn away. "Oh bollocks, I'm sorry!" You are waving your hand blindly at them. "Sorry, sorry, I'll just go wait outside, give me a shout when it's safe to come in." You fall on the sofa in the lounge and close your eyes.

The image of Thea's glorious naked back and buttocks is etched on the back of your eyelids, but it's better than the two pairs of blue eyes. That you are definitely not thinking about! You rub your face. Fucking fuck! You really cocked it up, didn't you, Wren?

Forget the getting off in the tent with the God of neurosurgery, that one is understandable. The opportunity was there, he is as hot as it gets, but why did you offer him to do it without a Durex? That was barmy, and so not you, but alright, let's choke it on his alleged mind-blowing attractiveness and you fawning over his gifted hands. It probably just made him think of you as more of a slapper, but again, as if he needed any encouragement in the area. Phil though…

You feel like dirt. You botched it up, bloody hell! Why did you kiss him back, why say that you didn't want him to take it back? You were so deranged that you just wanted someone to hold you, to care for you. But Phil is absolutely the wrongest choice for it. He was just randy, and you were vulnerable. You jump up and kick the sofa. Tosser, stupid pig! He has no right… He was groping some blonde's leg when you saw him. It's not like you agreed on a date with him right after climbing from under his uncle! Oh fuck…

Thea peeks from the room, and you see a guy hastily disappearing in the hall. Is it that blue-eyes hunk from the North, the postgrad from Genetics? Well done, Thea. You pick up your bags and drag your sorry arse inside. The questioning is imminent.

**XXX**

Three weeks pass, and you tell yourself you are fine. You even laugh about it with Thea. "Two hot pieces of arse in one night! A Thorington and a Durinson!" She is shaking her head. "And none properly!" You just smirk and pretend it doesn't hurt. Because it still weirdly does. Is it because it seemed like so much more at that time? Lying in Thorington's arms felt like something more. And then, and that is even worse, Phil kissing you also felt like something more. How stupid are you, Wren, to fall for him?

You stop yourself right there, right then. You have not fallen for the dirtiest stud in uni after one kiss! You love Phil, as a friend, you hang out together, you have fun. Well, not anymore. You haven't seen him since.

Maybe you can even fix it somehow. Joke it off, talk through it. You both were weird that morning, you kissed, no biggie. You both do it a lot. With other people. Why not with each other? You obviously are attracted to each other. Sleeping with each other would be bloody stupid, but surely you can salvage some friendly feelings between the two of you.

You bury your face into your pillow at night, and you mind wildly jumps between two hot bodies, pressed in you. Bollocks, at least choose one to obsess over. You shake your head. Banging that same head into a wall does not help much either.

**XXX**

Another week later Deadre Durinson gets into a car accident. It's nothing serious but everyone knows, since the wanker who rammed into her car was a Med Student. They say that Thorington has gone mental and wants to kick the guy out of the uni. Knowing his influence he even might.

You call Killian. "Hey, it's me. Sorry to bother you but..." "Wren?" "Yeah..." You hear him talking to someone near him. "Yes, yes, it's her… I'll tell her. Hey," he is back to you. "Listen, don't want to impose, just wanted to know how your mom is." "She is fine, they keep her here for observation, but she is fine. She says you can visit if you want."

You write down the room number and pace around your dorm for another half an hour. Are you seriously going there? Which one are you worried to see more?

**XXX**

You buy her favourite daffodils and put on your best dress. Whatever your transgressions with her men were, God, please, please, let her never find out, you really want to visit.

They are both standing in the hospital, facing each other, leaning on the opposite walls of the corridor. They turn their heads simultaneously, and you just want to fall through the tiled floor. But even in your embarrassed mortification, you can appreciate the picture. Two manes, gold and ebony, expensive jumpers over white tees, muscular wide bodies relaxed. Thea would say, the mind races. You are bloody depraved, Wren.

You plaster a polite smile on your face. "Hello," good, Wren, manners are important. "How is she?" They look at each other, and you have a terrifying thought that they actually somehow found out and discussed it between themselves. Thorington steps forward and stretches his hand. "Wren, right?" Oh, we are playing it this way!

You shake it and smile. "Yes, Leary. I study with Phil." Who is currently staring at his trainers. "Hey." You look at him from around the massive torso of his uncle. "Hey", Phil's tone is flat.

Thorington is towering over you. "She is fine, they are releasing her in an hour," he does have an orgasmic voice. You shiver and for the first time look into the blue eyes. They are cautious, cold. You tell yourself that all the tenderness and warmth you saw that night were a fruit of your hormonally unstable imagination. "Let me walk you there."

"I'll take her," Phil steps forward and for a second you see hesitation on Thorington's face. Phil is lifting his chin. Oh, at this stage it's pretty much same shite. "Sure," Thorington gives him a smile and steps back. His eyes didn't warm up for a second. "It was nice seeing you, Miss Leary."

You start walking and Phil joins you. You turn around. "You too, Dr. Thorington."


	6. Chapter 6

"Listen, Wren," Phil puts his hand on your elbow. "Before we go in, can we talk?" You stop and turn to face him. You were hoping to avoid this but you inexplicably feel like you owe him this. "Sure," you are looking everywhere but his eyes. He takes a deep breath. "I was a wanker, I had no right to… to judge. I deserved your slap a hundred per cent. It was none of my business," he shrugs. At least you think so, since the patch of his jumper on his sternum that you are staring at jumps up. "Whatever happened before the kiss is your life. You were right, I'm the last to place judgement." Your lips twitch.

"That sounded rehearsed." "I might have practiced before a mirror. Couple... dozens of times," there is a smile in his voice and you meet his eyes. God, they are so warm, glinting, and you smile back. He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs a bit. Bollocks, that feels good. He murmurs, "Can we go back to where we were?" "Sure, I was really hoping..."

His lips are on your mouth again, and bloody fuck! Does it have to feel so good?! But you already bodged it up once and learnt your lesson. You press your palms into his chest and gently push. He tears his mouth off yours. These are the sexiest lips, how did you notice before? Or you did, but didn't let yourself go there? And now they are wet, bright pink and slightly swollen from the kiss. Common, Wren, you need to figure it out quickly. "I meant to being friends." "That was friendly," the smirk is lopsided.

"I am not one of your skanky muppets, Phil. Scale the pull talk down," he gives you another smug smile and picks up a runaway curl. That's way too far into your personal space. You feel heat radiating from his hand, and he twists the strand around his finger.

You batter his hand. "I meant we had lovely relationships before, can we go back to that? All friendly and easy. You, me, Killian, pub..."

"It might be too late for it now..." He lowers his face to yours again and whispers, "I don't want to go back to what we had..." "Well, I don't want to sleep with you." Smooth, Wren, very smooth. And a total lie. Or not? Make up your mind!

He hikes up his brows and steps back. "Well, that was awfully direct." "You know me, Phil, what did you expect?" Which is coincidentally a very good question. What, indeed? "Listen, Wren, I'll be honest with you..."

The door to the room opens and Killian sticks his head out. You squash down an impulse to jump away from Phil. "Hey, Wren.." He sees he is presumingly intruding, and he shifts on his feet uncomfortably. "We are coming," Phil closes the door into his face. "Wren..."

Alright, you admit your defeat. You really don't know what you are thinking at the moment. "Let's talk later, alright? Maybe pub tonight, or something?" You bite your tongue to keep "it's not a date" to yourself. He stares at you for a second, scanning your face, and you feel the blush. Cursed pale skin! "Sure, there at 7?" "Sure."

**XXX**

Deadre Durinson is sitting on her bed cross-legged, reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She has her brother's magnificent hair, gentle full lips and Killian's brown eyes. She is reading "Odyssey". Have you mentioned, you are in love with this woman?

"Wren, my love, how nice of you!" She stretches her elegant fingers to you and when you take them she pulls you to sit near her on the covers. "How have you been, love? Haven't seen you in ages." "Hello, Mrs. Durinson. Shouldn't I be asking you how you are doing?" "Oh, bless! It's old news, I got torpedoes by this poor nimwit, but I'm in perfect health. I might have lost a couple hundred brain cells from all the scanning they did though." "It was just precautions," Phil is smiling to her. "Between the three of you, fancy doctors, you would dissect me to make sure." She waves her hand at him. "Philly, darling, could you fetch us some tea? I am sure they have at least one of those pretentious coffee shops in here." Phil smirks. "Earl grey with milk and sugar for me. Wren?" "Same, please."

He leaves with Killian in tow, and she picks up your hands. She is surveying you, and you blush again. "You look a bit pale, my darling. Gorgeous as usual, but a bit tired. Have you been studying too much again?" You shift under her scrutiny, unaccustomed to anyone actually care how you look. "It's the term tests time." "Have you been eating anything? It seems that there even less of you since I saw you last." Is she actually expecting an answer to this? You never know.

"Nevermind, I have a grudge to smooth out with you, young lady." Oh no, which one of them talked?! Panic, panic! Don't be an idiot, of course neither of them talked. "Last month, the swamp picnic..." Fuck, fuck, fuck! "You did not even say goodbye!" Oh all deities, thank you! You promise you will never be a bad girl again!

"I was not well. I apologise though, I should have rung you." "Really? Sorry to hear that, love. I had a different impression though… Since my older, endlessly depraved son came home with a face sad as a wet weekend, I assumed there was a tiff." Oh no! "No, no tiff," you smile the most unnatural smile you have ever plastered over you face. She lifts her brow and looks scarily just like her brother. Bollocks!

"You are good friends with Phil, my darling, I can see that. A smart girl such as yourself, you obviously understand that he is a lecher," good thing he hasn't returned with your tea yet, you would have choked and died just now, "his uncle, God forbid, was the same in his age." Oh my ficking God, can this conversation get any worse?! Probably not. "But they are just spoiled by all this attention, they think because they are lookers and have a long and complicated family name, they are entitled to a bit of… fun," she wrinkles her noble nose in disgust.

And then you are ready to take your previous statement back and shove it up your… Because she gently squeezes your fingers and says quietly, "But they have nice hearts. They can be loyal and kind. They just don't know it yet."

Kill me now.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thorin 7, Fili 2. It seems, my lovelies, you are not giving the poor lad even a slightest of chances :) But have you seen those hands and those narrow hips?! :) Google him! **

**And also, I think this chapter might make some of you reconsider ;)**

Deadre gives a lilting laugh. "How did I end up with a mini copy of my brother as a son? His father was so different! Have you actually met my brother, dear?" Oh, fuck, the relief! She was not saying what you thought she was saying. "Couple times." An understatement of the century, Wren.

The door opens behind you, and Deandre smiles, "Oh the tea!" You turn and feel the smile freeze on your face. Dr. Thorington is balancing the cardboard tray in his hand. There are three cups on it. "I sent Philip for your paperwork, they are letting you out of your treacherous prison," his voice is warm and humourous. You feel your eyebrows going up. It is like a different person!

He carefully gives her a cup, and then finally looks at you. You see leftover affection in his eyes and defiantly lift your chin. He frowns and gives you your cup. His fingers brush yours, and you feel like hissing. He just makes you so angry! God, you are absolutely livid.

He takes a sip from his coffee and sinks in a chair by the window. He is so tall that he has to stretch his long legs all the way to the middle of the room. She is smiling to him lovingly, "So Wren, those tests you mentioned, how are they going?" Bloody fucking great they are going! To be honest, surprisingly so, considering all the madness. "Quite well, thank you." "You are in BioChem, aren't you?" His low voice is so irritating! And sexy! And irritating! You suddenly remember this same voice raspily moaning in the middle of orgasm, and you feel heat licking your nape. "Yes, indeed."

"What's your upcoming thesis topic, Miss Leary?" Are we having a small talk now? Wanker. "Molecular structure and functions of microcephalin." Go to hell with your blue eyes and sensual lips. "Fetal brain development? An ambitious topic," he is looking at you over the rim of his cup. And you bet he thought you are a brainless trollop. Well, you are a trollop, but top of her class trollop. "Haven't you received that Katransky grant last year?" What?! How?..

"I was in the committee. A really impressive proposal, Ms Leary." Your head is spinning. He knew about your research, what? Deadre laughs. "That would be the first time I hear you complimenting anyone in years, sweetie." Sweetie? Years? Send help! Your brain is fried. "I do compliment. When it is deserved. Ms. Leary has shown a fair amount of innovation and creativity in her approach and deserves high praise." "Are you quoting your own report, Dr. Thorington?" Why can you never keep your mouth shut?

He is suddenly laughing, a open loud guffaw, white teeth and wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. "Busted," he takes another sip from his cup and licks his lips. "But your research is indeed stupendous."

What now?

**XXX**

You chat some more with Deadre, about your tests and her dogs, Thorington silently sitting in his chair. Sometimes you feel his eyes on you and fight the desire to rub the back of your neck. Just don't think about that night, you absolutely moved on, it was a one time thing. You shagged, sort of, your scientific hero when you got a chance, and that was fun. Case closed. He could have been a bit more gracious in the morning, but it's all fine.

Killian returns with Deandre's bag and papers. Phil is apparently bringing over the car. That's your cue. You let her hug you and promise to give her a ring. "I am happy you are alright, Mrs. Durinson," she is smiling to you. "Thank you, love. I hope I will see you soon." You wave to Killian and turn to Thorington. "I'll walk you out." God, please don't!

You silently walk out of the room and you open your mouth, but he interrupts. "Wren..." His voice is low and coarse. "Please, tell me you are not going to apologise." Filter, you need to develop some sort of a filter between the brain and the mouth.

He hikes up his brows. "What would I apologise for?" Really? You, tosser. Oh nevermind. "Indeed. You were saying?.." He licks his lips. That is a very bad habit you have there, Dr. Thorigton. Utterly distracting. "I understand we started off on a wrong foot," that is one way to put it, "but I believe we could reach some sort of an agreement." What the actual fuck?!

He is not proposing what you think he is proposing! "We are obviously attracted to each other, and you seem to have no more desire for any commitment than I do…" He lets you finish the thought in your head.

You really feel like pouring the tea left in your cup on his head. You clearly envision how the lukewarm liquid is dripping from his glorious strands and long nose. But then you stop yourself. What other impression would he have from you based on what happened? You did jump his bones in the first ten minutes after crawling into his tent uninvited.

Be reasonable, Wren. If the hat fits, and such. You exhale slowly to calm down and say, "Dr. Thorington, I am afraid we indeed have started off on the wrong foot. I don't normally affiliate with men the way we… started off. And I have no desire to continue the same association with you." He gives you a long appraising look and then nods.

"Thank you for your honesty. May I ask what was not to your liking in my proposal?" Seriously, are we going to continue a decorous discussion about it? "You surely have had one-night stands before, why not turn it into a comfortable arrangement? Or is it me personally you do not approve?"

You literally see red. Your fists are clenched, and your jaws are pressed together so tight that it hurts. "I do indeed have one-night stands, but I am not that cold about it. It's more impulses than a calculated approach," why are you explaining yourself? He is just so dominating, suffocating, that you feel pinned to the floor.

"May be it is time to grow up and move to the next level," and that is when you slap him. His head jerks back, and he is pressing a palm to his cheek. His eyes are livid. "Listen, you jerk, I slept with you because I wanted to. Because I thought there is something under that fucking cold exterior of yours! I wasn't trying to achieve anything, and even less so I wanted to become your doxy. I'd rather shag a random wanker in a club bathroom, because we both feel like it, than this!.. I bet there is even a contract enclosed to it! You are such a dick!" You realize you are yelling. You swirl around and run. You are only sorry you can't hold back the sobs long enough so that he can't hear them.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you, RedHairedJenna, for the new favourite moniker for the King Under the Mountain! Keep an eye for it in the text! :)**

**Thorin is still leading with his 9, versus Fili's 4. Really, people, even after previous chapter? :) **

You never actually get to proper crying. By the time you finally get on the bus, the tears are gone. Every bloody muscle in your body hurts, but you are not crying. You are telling yourself you will get home, crawl under the blanket, and then you will think, and feel sorry for yourself, and analyze and analyze what just happened, and how your life turned into this pile of shit. You come back to the dorm, peel off your dress and bra, and in nothing but knickers you curl into a tight ball in your sheets.

The thoughts do not come though, and you don't notice how you fall asleep. You wake up with your heart beating painfully and irregularly, and look at your phone. It's 6.40. Shite! Phil! You agonize for a few minutes, he certainly won't believe if you suddenly come up with some half arse excuse why you are not coming. Fuck, fuck! But you just can't drag yourself out and in all honesty, what are you going to say?.. You are so not ready for any heavy conversations. You chew on your lips, and send him a pitiful text that you have a sudden food poisoning. You are trying to phrase it so that it looks like you are bloody devastated that you can't come. You offer him lunch tomorrow, hit "send" and hide under the covers again. No answer comes in the next fifteen minutes. Oh sod it…

Now that there is nothing to distract you from your thoughts, your mind is reeling. What do you do now? On a deep existential level. Is the universe telling you that you are a dirty whore and need to reevaluate your life choices? Or is the Dark and Sexy just a tosser and you should just forget about it?.. And why does it hurt so much?

You know why it hurts, Wren. Because of those few moments when you just crawled into his sleeping bag, and he seemed to envelop you into his grassy smell and his warmth. You closed your eyes and you've never in your life felt better. Or when he momentarily lost control and bit your lip, his heavy body pressing you into the ground, and you felt powerful, brave, beautiful… Because no one has ever made you feel the way you felt in those few short moments…

You start crying, dry painful sobs shaking your body, and you bite into your pillow. You hate him, you hate yourself, you hate the universe… You feel like screaming, or breaking something, and preferably over his head. You have no bloody reason, but you feel like he lied to you, like he stole something from you, like… You do not know anything anymore…

**XXX **

Thea knocks at your door. "Wren, are you sleeping?" "No," your outburst is over, and you are shaking, your teeth chattering. "Phil is here, he brought ginger drops, chicken soup and electrolyte drinks," she is obviously advertising him. "Do you want me to send him away?" Like you know at this stage. You hum neutrally. Maybe if you don't answer categorically, she will decide herself. And the universe with her.

The door closes and you hear muffled voices. Then it opens again, and in a second Phil's weight presses on the edge of your bed. You know it's him because of the spicy smell of his cologne and because even through a comforter, the quilt and the covers you are wrapped into, you feel the warmth coming from his hip, pressed into your back. "Hey..."

"Hey," you sound awful. At least he won't think you are faking it. You don't turn and curl into an even tighter ball. Suddenly his hand is in your hair, gently stroking, and it is a bliss. You suddenly remember how you got very sick when you were nine, and in your foster home it pretty much meant you were stuck in bed, alone, and people sometimes forgot to feed you. Or bring you water for that matter. You had a very high fever, and you were imagining how, if you had had a mother, she would be sitting near you right there and gently running her fingers through your hair. Exactly like Phil is doing right now.

Probably, because he has a mother, who sat with him when he was nine and sick. Because that is what you do when someone you love feels like shit. Because that what caring is. Except he doesn't care for you. Because it is Philip Durinson, the dirtiest stud and playboy of the uni. Insensitive and inconsiderate manwhore. "Can I get you anything, love?" His tone is gentle, and you just want to cry again. You shake your head as much as your position allows.

You are silent for a few minutes, he is running his fingers through your hair, you are breathing through your tears. You are still shaking. He rubs your shoulder and then places his palm on it. "Wren, did you take your temperature? You are shivering." His palm touches on your forehead, and your whole body jerks. "You are not hot," he sounds worried, but then again, it's still Phil, "in temperature sense obviously." He waits for you to chuckle but you are too busy clenching your teeth.

Suddenly you hear two thuds of shoes falling on the floor and he slides on the bed behind you. He wraps his arm around you and you are enveloped in his heat.

He is warm, his heart beating steadily, he buries his nose in your hair. Minutes pass, and you relax into him, shaking dies down, you even shuffle a bit to get a bit more comfortable. He pushes his elbow, and you lift your head. Your cheek lies on his arm, and he pulls you even closer. Your lids are getting heavier, and you drift away.

**XXX**

You wake up from your alarm blaring on the bedside table, and you leap towards it, consequently stretching across Phil. He wakes up and you two are staring at each other. He has a naked girl lying across his chest, you are pressing your pelvis into his sizable boner. Oh poop.

He lifts a brow and smirks. It takes you a second but then your understand his smugness. Cocky bastard! Literally. You guess the size runs in the family. Bloody hell!.. He is almost ten inches shorter than his uncle. Wait, not shorter, less tall. Because there is absolutely nothing short about him. And judging by the bulge under your lower stomach the width upholds.

Shit, Wren, what are you going to do now? The phone in your hand, if you get up you will flash him. If you start sliding backwards, you will literally hump him. He is still, one arm under his head, another actually under your knee. Your skin starts heating up in his palm. If he moves at least one muscle in his glorious body, that will pretty much be heavy petting. He holds your gaze and isn't moving. Bloody impasse.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: The plot thickens... Phil 9, Thorington 12. I am very proud of myself that I manage to convince a few hard core Thorin-girls to switch camps :) **

**A/N#2: Who said there isn't enough Phil-fluff? Let me pour a bucket of this sweet stuff on you! :) And Dark and Sexy is never too far! Mwuahahaha! *ominous maniacal laughter* **

Still frozen in your gridlock you are silently praying for your phone to ring. That would dispel the tension and give you something to do. But no luck! He is shamelessly ogling you, and then his eyes are sliding down your back. It feels as if someone is pouring molten wax on your skin. His eyes are caressing the shoulder blades, the curve of the waist and then his brow cocks up. Fuck, the knickers. The dress was comfy, nothing gauzy, so you went for cotton bikinis. With Tweety Birds.

The ever so curled-up corner of his lips twitches and crawls up. You lick your lips and make up your mind. You are not fifteen, and that is not the first guy in your bed. Whom are you bloody kidding, your hands are shaking… You lift your bum, bend your back, press your palms on the other side of the bed, across his body, and slowly get up on all four over him. He exhales sharply. In a fluid motion you shift your weight on your legs and you are kneeling above him, shoulders straight and chin up. It's your turn to lift a brow.

For a second he is staring at your breasts, and then pounces, pushing you into your sheets. His hands are on your shoulders, and he locks his lips on your mouth. Oh you needed this! He is greedy, skillful and soon you are opening your mouth for his tongue. It doesn't disappoint. Fuck, you are already wet! He suddenly sits up pulling you with him, and you are straddling him, your legs around his waist. He buries his hands into your hair and slows down.

He switches to small gentle kisses, your jaw, your neck, your shoulders. "Wren..." He is murmuring your name into your skin, and you drop your head back. "Wren, I can't..." Sure, whatever you want… Wait, what?! You straighten up, his hands are on your back, and his mouth is pressed into your right shoulder. He is not moving. "What?" Of course he can. The evidence is pressed into your drenched Tweeties. "I can't..." Are you kidding me?

"I mean physically I can, but it will just cock everything up..." Oh no, don't tell me, now he is planning to save your friendship! You are considering two options, getting off him and smashing his head with a lamp. Or getting off him and jumping out of the bloody window. You can always do both, lamp then window. You start shaking. Not your month, Wren, not your month.

He is gently rubbing your shoulder blades. Bloody fuck, how many times have you been rejected in the past forty days?! He looks at your guiltily, "Wren. I fancy you."

**XXX**

"Sorry, I think I'm hearing things. I just heard you saying you fancy me." He actually pushes you off his lap and moves to the edge of the bed. You grab a blanket and cover up. His uncle's "Miss Leary" might have been easier to digest. Oh just don't fucking go there, Wren, not right now... He nods and stares at his hands. "But you can't sleep with me."

"Oh I can," he murmurs and rubs his face with his palms. "But I don't want to. I've never done it with someone… I care about. It's not just a shag, don't you get it?" He looks genuinely upset and a bit peevish. What the fuck is going on with your sex life these days?!

"I'm really not sure what to say here." "What can you say? Yeah, you fancy me too, cue rainbows and fucking unicorns. Or you are sorry, but you don't see me that way. The second is more common. I've said it myself hundreds of times." "Not exactly the right time to mention this, don't you think?" "Should I pretend to be a blushing virgin? Some go for it. But I don't think that'll work on you." Yuck, no. Too much emotions. What are you talking about, you have an eternal playboy going all gooey and mushy on you and spilling his heart to you on your bed… Hell with it all!

"Since when?" "Since from the start. Bollocks, Wren, just in or out, alright?" "Huh?" Very eloquent, dimwit. "I am willing to try, with you. I am all for new positions," never without an innuendo. "Try what?" "Dating. Commitment, candles, sunsets, all this shite." How romantic! Oh bugger, did you say it out loud? You don't even like romantic stuff. He picks up your hands.

"Wren..." He is starting in a low sensual voice but can't keep a straight face, and you both start chuckling. "Where is this coming from, Phil?" He is rubbing your knuckles with his thumb and draws eights on your skin. Please, tell me he didn't observe his uncle doing it. Feels fucking familiar. You jerk your hands out.

"Common, Wren, let's do it," his voice is raspy and seductive when needed. "It's going to be a great new adventure." He pulls you closer, still in a cocoon of blankets, and tilts his head. He is smiling slightly and gives you a cheeky look. "And then me and Tweety are going to have a talk."

Oh bollocks.

**XXX**

You are actually very proud of yourself. You don't jump his bones right there, right then. Maybe you have smartened up in the last few weeks. "I don't know, Phil… I… Can I think about it?" It sounds stupid, but at least you are honest. "Sure thing," he is carefully pulling a corner of your comforter. "Don't mind me, I'll do some bird watching meanwhile," he already unwrapped your shoulder and places a scorching fluttering kisses on it.

Oh fuck. "I'm serious, Phil. It's not quite my game..." His lips are on your clavicle, and you literally swoon. The room sways and you grab his shoulders. "And I think I'm going to be sick again." That stops him. To his credit, he doesn't jump away. "Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?" He sounds genuinely concerned. Fuck. "No. I'll manage."

You scurry off the bed and rush to the bathroom. On your way you pass Thea innocently sipping her tea in the kitchenette. "Don't you even fucking start!" You hiss at her and disappear behind the bathroom door. You hear her laugh on the other side.

You splash some cold water on your face and wrap yourself in a robe. It is short and silky, with lacy top and deep cuts on your hips. Shoot, that definitely sends a wrong message. You pull the belt tight. At least you are covered. You brush your teeth, and while your hand is moving frantically, you are thinking. Bugger, bugger, bugger!

The problem is you don't have an answer. You just don't know. Do you want it? Do you want him enough? Is it just you being horny and wanting someone to care for you? Especially after… No, Wren, stop it, we bloody agreed not to go there… These are two separate things. But they are not! Somehow weirdly it is all connected.

Then you freeze with your toothbrush still deep in your mouth. If you start anything with Phil and at some point, somehow he finds out… Then your past is not going to be some faceless jerks. Wait, but they are not all faceless, there is Killian… He just said "from the start". If he fancied you, how come he encouraged his brother to date you?

And then last but not the least, you know his past too. And as hypocritical as it is, do you want a guy who slept with the whole uni? And you might be shallow, but do you want to walk through the halls with him and everyone will think you are just the next one stupid enough? Maybe you are just the next one, maybe that's a page from his usual playbook… Fuck…

You press your forehead into the mirror and spit the foam. A knock comes from the door. "You alright, love?" No, you are most definitely not. "Yeah, just brushing my teeth. I'll be out in a mo." You hear Thea's voice too. "I'm leaving for my lectures. Have fun and do everything I would!" Guh…

The front door bangs, and it's time to face the firing squad. You step out and you hear your phone ringing in the bedroom. Phil is propped on Thea's chair, chewing a biscuit. Seriously, he has an oral fixation. He is always either chewing, or sucking on a sweet, or… No, none of those mental images.

You rush by him and pick up the phone. It is some marketing shite, but it gives you a moment to pull a long sweater over your robe. You hear rustling behind you, and he is leaning on the doorframe. You hang up and sit. "I have a class in twenty minutes." "You are going? You are sick as a dog," you give him a stare. "A silky, adorable, chow puppy?" He lifts his hands in mock surrender. "It's Perkins." "Yeah, you need to go." Noone skips Perkins.

You get up and give him a pointed look. "I need to get dressed." "Yes, you do." "Get out of my bedroom, berk." You are giddy. Oh stop it, Wren. He smirks but leaves, and you hear his voice from the kitchenette. "I'll pick you up after the lecture. You should get a nosh after." Really, he is worse than Thea in the innuendo department! "I have three labs after. Pub at 7?" "Are you going to stand me up again?" You come out and see him finishing an apple. Oh, the lips and the white teeth…

"No," you come and slide your arms around his waist. He stops chewing and looks down at your. He is only maybe seven inches taller than you but it is actually an excellent height difference. You rub your nose into his short beard. "I'm not." He tastes like apple.


	10. Chapter 10

Perkins indeed delivers. Two female students run out of the auditorium crying, one guy snaps a pencil from humiliation. His palm is bleeding and he is pressing his shirt into it, but doesn't dare leave. Analytical chemistry, ladies and gentlemen. You survive Perkins, you will survive anything. Maybe even a zombie apocalypse.

The yelling reaches its peak, when the door opens and the Dean of the Faculty looks in. You suspect that even he is afraid of Perkins. "I'm sorry to bother you, Ronald, but I need one of your students." Everyone exchanges glances. "Miss Leary?" The Dean is looking at you. Bloody fuck…

You get up under a couple hundred of widened eyes and grab your stuff. You scurry down the aisle and almost curtsy in front of Perkins. "I am sorry, sir." He gives you a stare. You follow the Dean into the hall. "Let's go, Leary," he gives you a look over. "Most unfortunate, most unfortunate..." What?

You are wearing a pair of old denim and an oversized sweater reaching mid thigh. You had a rough night, alright? The hair is in an unassuming bun, glasses instead of lenses. After you pushed Phil out of your room, after a few minutes of increasingly steamy snogging that is, you had three minutes to get dressed. And no minutes for hair or mascara. And you hate it anyways. You are a ginger, you lot are allergic to everything.

You follow the Dean and your heart is throbbing in your throat. You reach his office and he pushes you into a room full of people. Suits clad people. Very important looking, posh, perfectly groomed men and women. And John Thorington.

"Ah, Miss Leary, thank you for joining us," a man who you recognise immediately stretches his hand in greeting. You shake it. "It's an honour to meet you, Dr. Yamataki." He smiles and bows to you. You return the bow. Let's face it, you have practiced in front of the mirror. Not that you were hoping to ever receive this giant, super prestigious, everyone-will-know-you-name-after grant and meet him in flesh, but just in case. He smiles even more pleasantly and claps your shoulder. "The honour is all mine. Allow me to introduce my colleagues."

**XXX**

The next hour passes in haze. You give a short speech, answer their questions, and sign the papers. It seems to have gone well. You were calm and confident. Since you have dreamt of and imagined it for the past year and practiced in your head almost every evening. You even managed to insert your duck and a syringe joke. Everyone laughs. Except Thorington. Jerk.

You quickly forget that he is in the room, until one of the women doesn't place her hand on his forearm and pronounce in an alluring lilting voice, "You were absolutely right, John. Miss Leary is indeed the best choice for the grant."

It feels like being kicked into your stomach. But more painful. You owe him all this? All this is not because of your proposal, or your grades, or the endless sleepless nights you spent in the lab, but it's him?! What is it?! Some sort of compensation for moral damages, in his perverted calculative mind?!

You feel nauseated and probably look greenish. "I think we are overwhelming Miss Leary a bit," his voice is low and languished. Can he be more of a condescending wanker?! Fucking tosser! "I have to admit that is one of the most emotional days of my life, Dr. Thorington, but I'm coping," you do not manage to fully devoid your voice of venom. The others laugh.

He gives you sideways glance from under a cocked brow. You have never hated anyone more than you hate him him right now.

**XXX**

Everyone is goodbuying and leaving the office. You bow to Yanataki, and he shakes your hand again. "I will be following your successes, Miss Leary." The Dean leaves to walk the guests to the parkade and go for lunch with some of them later. "Come back and see me tomorrow, Miss Leary, and congratulations." You thank him and walk out into the corridor.

Thorington is standing absorbed in a conversation with the same lady who addressed him as "John" in the office. She is stroking his forearm again and he leans in, lowering his upper torso to her. He is just so massive.

You clench your jaws and approach. She is hotly whispering something, his face is unreadable. "Dr. Thorington, could I have a word, please?" You are shaking so much from hatred and humiliation, that you have to clench your hands on the handle of your messenger bag. He excuses himself and turns to you.

That is when you snap and grab his sleeve. You drag him into the nearest empty office, any decorum be damned, and he allows you obviously trying to avoid a scene. You push him in, as much as it is possible to push this heavy body, and you lock the door.

"How dare you?" You hiss still grasping for some remnants of sanity not to raise your voice. "How dare I what?" He sounds confused. And peevish, as usual. "I can't do this, it's fucking not fair… You can't take this away from me… Now it's like it's not even real… Now I will never know!.." You are not making much sense, but you are just livid.

"Are you well, Miss Leary? You are hardly coherent," I'll show you coherence, you arrogant fuck! You pounce closer to him and poke his chest with your finger. "I am not your doxy to pay me off with grant money!" "You are not indeed. You were quite clear on this topic previously." You poke him again. "You just don't do this!.." He grabs your hand. "Be careful, Miss Leary, I do not react well to physical violence." His eyes are dark and you feel like slapping him again. Last time it was very satisfying.

He is squeezing your fingers and it hurts. "I can't believe you felt you need to pay me off..." "You are completely mad, Miss Leary." "You got me the Yamataki money!.." "I did no such thing. I voted for your candidacy among others who supported you. The vote was almost unanimous anyways," he narrows his eyes at you. "Do you honestly believe I would meddle with the fate of that much funding for the sake of pleasing one little girl? Who is also prone to childish, unreasonable tantrums," his words are like slaps.

You are panting and try to step back, but he is holding your hand very tightly. His chest is heaving. Oh fuck, he is absolutely furious, and you just realized what you accused him of. Favouritism and fraud. Oh shit…

"I..." You really don't know what to say and then he throws your hand aside. "Have your senses returned to you, Miss Leary?" "Yes," your face is burning. And then he cups it and presses his lips onto yours.

Is it a kiss-Wren-without-asking month?


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thorin 13, Phil 11. Is my golden boy actually catching up?! Oh, the excitement!**

**A/N#2: OMFG, I just discovered that there is such magical thing as a **_**crossover**_**! Oh, the mind races! All the possibilities! :)**

His hot palms are groping your arse, your hands are pulling at his hair, and he bites you bottom lip. Someone jerks the door, but you just don't give a fuck. His large body is moving under your hands, and you moan into his mouth. He growls, literally bloody growls, you can't believe it, like a giant wild animal, and starts backing you up towards a desk in the middle of the office. He picks you up like you weigh nothing and drops your butt on the desk. With his knee he spreads your legs and presses his upper body into you. Fuck! Your head is dropped back, he is bending you backwards almost painfully and is sucking on your throat. You wrap your legs around his narrow hips and grind your pelvis into him. Another delicious growl rumbles through his chest, and you think you are going to come right there.

Then he abruptly stops and makes a small step back. With his palms on the table on the sides of your hips he drops his head and is panting loudly. "Fuck, I have no self-control with you..." He is snarling through his teeth. "Give me a moment." You were not doing anything. You are way too mortified. What the fucking fuck?!..

Then you feel awful. All you can think is Phil. The problem is that when you feel bad, that non existent filter between your brain and your mouth turns into a pump sucking your thoughts out and pouring them through your lips. "I have a date with Phil tonight." He barks a joyless laugh. "Of course you do."

He straightens up and looks at you. Your cheeks are flaming, lips feel swollen and your hair is a curly mop around your head. "What is it about you?" He is staring, as if actually trying to figure you out. "Don't seem like anything special." Well, that's just rude.

"Maybe your perception is blunted by the legions of other women going through your hands," yep, the pump is working full scale. He laughs, almost genuinely actually. "You are quite something, Wren." "I didn't know we are on the first name basis." "Might as well," he gestures to your disheveled appearance.

Then he narrows his eyes and you recognize the gesture from the tapes of his surgeries. He has exactly the same face before he inserts an endoscope into a person's nasal cavity. "I don't date, Wren. I have neither time nor inclination for it. I also don't trust people, women especially. But I can offer you monogamous relationships with the maximum comfort for you in them. I assure you I can be chivalrous and generous. Also, I think since our life pursuits are in the same field, we both will be understanding towards time constrictions for our affiliations and the amount of involvement into each other's life."

He looks determined and rather pleased with himself for this speech. You swing your leg over another and just let it fucking go. "Is that your very eloquent, posh way to offer me to be fuck-buddies?" It seems you don't have to articulate your answer to his proposal. His eyes get cold and he steps further back.

"Don't get me wrong, I understand that somewhere in your giant brain you have reconsidered some of the features of this agreement after the previous time and you think you are making a much more generous offer, but to me it still sounds that you are establishing a convenient line for booty calls."

You are not even upset. The rage is white and keeps your spine straight. You finally feel almost at peace. This chapter is done and over with. Now you can go home, smugly think that you actually broke through his self-control once, and never think of him again. Maybe get yourself a nice boyfriend. A nice blond six foot three boyfriend. Or maybe not. You have the grant now, you will be very busy.

He turns around and walks to the door. You breath out. And then he stops in front of the locked door and doesn't move. What?... He slams a palm into the wall, and you jump up. He turns around, and he is terrifying! No cold exterior, no decorum, no posh upbringing, just blazing eyes and teeth bared in a gnarl. "So what do you want from me?"

You are scared, seriously. You gulp and start sliding off the table in case you need to run. He grabs your shoulders and lowes his face to yours. There is foot difference between you and it feels like he is going to crush you. "What do you want from me?" He snarls every word separate from another. "Nothing!" You are yelling at his face. "Fuck you and your trust issues! I am not trying to get anything out of you!" He is kissing you again but this time you are fighting.

You are pushing him away, your hands flail and you graze his cheek with your nails. He hisses and steps back, pressing his hand into it. "Oh my God, I am so sorry, it was an accident!" You stretch your hand to him and he flinches. "John, I'm so sorry." He is breathing heavily and makes another couple steps back.

"It's fine, not your fault." He looks at his fingers and his brows jump up at the sight of blood. His face is clearly adorned with nail marks. Well, that will be embarrassing. Or maybe it will just support his reputation of a player. "Will serve me right."

You bite your lips. "I am really sorry." "Again, not your fault. I behaved unacceptably." "I..." "Stop apologising!" he snaps, and you wince. "It was my fault, I behaved like an animal. I just can't seem to think straight around you." He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. You remember the gesture from that night. It is John Thorington returning to reality gesture. "You can go now, I am sane again."

"Don't dismiss me, I'm not your servant," you bite back. "You are anything but, that's for certain." He walks to the same damn desk and heavily leans on it.

Why aren't you leaving? You are shifting between your legs but do not unlock the door or leave. You just can't seem to bring yourself to pop that weird bubble you two are in. You suspect that the reason is that you seem to finally break through his shell, and he is more open and vulnerable than ever before. You just didn't know before that you were trying to get through that shell.

"What happened to you?" He lifts his surprised eyes at you. "Did your wife cheat on you with your best friend? Or did your partner steal all your money and set you up with a honey trap?" "What?" "You obviously have trust issues. And I should know, I am one big trust issue wrapped in smaller ones. But yours are also rooted in anger. Very unhealthy," you tut-tut, and he chuckles.

"So?" You cautiously move closer and sit on the other end of the desk. You feet are dangling. "Are we having an intersubjective confession session?" "The fact that you know the term is endlessly alarming." He gives you a sideways glance and you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I gave up on the third shrink," yep, that's definitely a hint of a smile. "Like any medical scientist, Dr. Thorington, you should know they are phony rubbish," you smile to him, "You should have seen my child psychopathologist." "I am afraid to ask," the corners of his lips twitch. "I've had aggression issues. Too many foster families in one year."

He gives you an attentive look. "Are you also a delinquent, Miss Leary?" Little wrinkles gather in the corners of his eyes, and his voice is low and velvety, "I should have known, two slaps and a scratched face were sort of a clear sign."

"Fully your responsibility." He tilts his head and gives you an inquisitive look. "I am wrong about you every time around, am I not?" You shrug. He exhales and you see his shoulders relax. He stands up and walks to stand in front of you. "I still don't date." "Fine with me," you are smiling. He leans in and whispers into your lips. "And you still don't want to, as you so graciously put it, be my doxy." "Mhm," you shake your head vigorously. "That's quite a stalemate we have in here, Miss Leary."

And also I spent the night in your nephew's arms.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: My lovely readers, I LOVE YOU! You make it all worth the effort! You should hear the squeaks I emit when I see the new reviews posted. Love you all!**

**A/N#2: Our boys are running neck and neck! 16:16! How awesome is that?! :) Exactly the result I was hoping for!**

**Question: Should I wrap it up in say two or three chapters, giving you couple last chances to vote before it is over? All depends on you now! (And then maybe write a sequel if I'm into it *wink wink nudge nudge*)**

**Or should I stretch the drama for another ten chapters? I feel equally favourable towards both options. I can clearly see both plots in my head to be honest. **

You laugh. What else can you do? He smiles too. Who knew he can be so gorgeous, with merry sparkles in his eyes and these white teeth biting his bottom lip? As you said, a bloody criminal habit. "I think this stalemate of ours can be solved very easily." You look at him from under the lashes, "How?" "You give me a chance. After all, I'm certain you have never been a doxy before," he presses his lips together not to smile. And fuck me, the black cocked up brow! It is thick and smooth, and you just want to slide the tips of your fingers along it.

You also want to respect yourself afterwards. And sadly enough, you already know your answer. "No. Sorry, but no." You slide on the floor and walk around him. He is frowning. "You can not possibly expect to maneuver me into different sort of relationships." "God forbid, of course no." You look at him sadly. It's all you feel now, sad. "Unlike you I wouldn't want to twist someone's arm into something they don't want." His jaw tenses. "Wren..." "Let me finish, please. I understand that you are offering all you can. And it's… nice," you really should have taken those Rhetoric Speech classes they offered last year. "But it's just not me. You know how I feel about you. Well, at least some of my feelings," you screw your eyes on the desk. He gives a joyless chuckle. "But really, it's just not me. I'm young, irrational, prone to childish tantrums, you are right," you give him another somber smile, "I'm just not a doxy material. So no, thanks," and before you can change your mind you make a few steps and unlock the door.

He nods. The conversation is over. You are exiting and then you hear, "Wren..." You turn around to look at him. His face is cold and unreadable once again. "Are you having a dinner with Philip tonight?" "We were going to pub tonight..." and then you understand. "Oh. I don't know… Maybe?.."

He nods again and adjusts a cufflink. That is such a childish attempt to hide his face, that your heart clenches. Poor sod. Are you out of your mind, Wren?! "Have a good evening," his voice is flat. "Bye," and with that you leave.

**XXX**

You talk your way out of the three labs after, since the rumours of your grant are spreading. Before another person congratulates you, enviously and completely insincerely, you rush back to the dorm. You wisely knock and come in. Thea is demurely watching TV in the kitchenette.

"You are early," you throw yourself on her neck and she yelps. "Oh bugger! Don't tell me you guys had a fight!" "What? No, no fight, I just had a very long day." "It's three." She looks at you sceptically. "I know. Listen, I'm going to tell you everything later, but now I just need to get out of here." You agree on talking before you go to pub to meet Phil, and you go shopping.

You wander through the shops, try on clothes, and let the day settle in your mind. The grant is a big deal, but you don't seem quite able to wrap your mind around it yet. It will take some time indeed. John… When did he become John in your mind? Bollocks, there hardly anything to say here. Phil…

That's the dilemma that confuses you most. What are you going to do? He is Phil, delicious and sunny, you have shared drinks and now shared a bed too, but you just feel like something is missing. And also you feel like you are bloody lying to him. Fuck, you feel like you are using him, and that is an unfamiliar feeling. Though it is Phil, shag and discard type of guy, you feel like this time… Oh sod it, you don't really know what it is for him, what does he even think?

And what is this rubbish about lying to him? If you hook up, you won't cheat, and you will have fun, and you will see his mom a lot. It is slightly disturbing that you want to date him for his mom, but again, people have worse reasons for getting into relationships. And you want him, and you fancy him, and not just a bit. He is talented, ambitious, funny… Are you trying to fucking convince yourself, Wren?

You are staring at yourself in a mirror in a fitting room, and then notice your boring white bra. You make a decision. With a much more dedication you go through more shops, buying a new pair of denim, a new sweater and a set of blue lacy lingerie. It's six and you won't have much time later. You change into new clothes and buy a tube of mascara. You put it on in a shop and dial Phil.

"Are you calling to disappoint me again, love?" His tone is flirty. "No, I was actually thinking we should skip pub tonight and meet up at my place." You are twirling a tube of lip gloss in your fingers. Would he like "Cherry Pop" or "Blushing Peach"? Bloody hell, concentrate, Wren. "Oh?" His voice drops lower and into more of a purring diapason "I think we should talk and pub is too noisy for that." "And just when this conversation started sounding so promising..." You laugh. "We do need to talk, Phil." "Uh-huh," he is distracted, "Sorry, love, I'm in the middle of a seminar." "Why do you pick up your phone during a seminar, you prat?" That feels good, good old bickering. "Because you are calling me, love. How can I say no?" You hear professor Johnson's irritated voice at the background, "Are we bothering you, Mr. Durinson?" "Not in the slightest, professor," plonker! "I'll be at your place at seven, love." "Deal."

You call Thea but she doesn't pick up. Bugger! On the other hand if you ask her to leave to give you and Phil some space, she'll be out of the door in a sec. She would probably rise from her deathbed to give you some privacy. And her best box of condoms. It's six thirty and you are rushing back. You burst through the door and are met with a faceful of confetti and yell, "Surprise!" Everyone is already holding a drink and a giant banner "Congrats on the Yamataki grant" is decorating your kitchenette. Fuck.

**A/N: While I was writing this chapter, Thorington got 7 more votes, and Phil got none. Is this a consensus, my lovelies? :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: With a glorious "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!" Dr. Thorington rushes ahead and gains an advantage of 26 over Phil's 18. So, should I wrap it up in a couple chapters and I'll give you the end you voted for, or should I continue the torture? :)**

**A/N#2: I just watched three seasons of "The Almighty Johnsons"in one sitting, fastforwarding to the moments with Anders. Can you imagine what it did to my imagination?! :)**

By 7.15 the party is in full swing, everyone is so overstressed from the term tests that booze hits their braincells like a hammer on an anvil. Since you can't drink, you are nursing your first and only glass. At some point you find Thea in the kitchenette. "Thea," she turns around and squeals. "Oh I'm so happy for you!" She hangs on your neck. Which is bloody painful, since she is at least five inches taller than you. And much fuller in the most important zones.

"Thea, Phil was supposed to come tonight," she clasps her palm on her mouth. "Sorry, babe, I didn't know! Eva called and said the whole uni is buzzing about your scoring the big snatch, and I thought it calls for a celebration!" She looks pitiful. You hug her. "And I love it! It's just we finally wanted to talk..." "Finally?" She looks at your suspiciously, "He spent the night." "Nothing happened." "And now you are wearing new boob holders," she hooks her finger under a strap. There is no use trying to lie to her. She has a terrifying ESP for anything shag related. You feel the blush. "Oh Wren, this is better than your grant thing! Finally!" "Shut up, Thea!" You are laughing too.

At seven thirty you hiding on the fire escape. You are too spun out to be in the crowd, everyone needs to know how it went, what you are going to do with the money, some clap you on the shoulder, but some thankfully have already forgotten what the party was about. You lean on the wall and close your eyes.

The window opens and Phil's head sticks out. "There you are, love," he climbs out and sits beside you. You feel his hip pressing into yours. You turn to him and smile. He hands you a bouquet of your favourite red carnations. You bury your face into them, the spicy sweet smell tickling your nose. You don't remember ever telling him you loved them. "Thank you," you smile into his laughing eyes. "If I knew, I would bring enough for everyone," he gives you a pointed look. "Listen, I'm sorry about this, Thea invited everyone, to celebrate the grant..." "Oh, congratulation on that. Uncle said you were magnificent." "Oh?" You hide your face in the flowers again. "I ran into him after your meeting." "Oh?" Shite, shite, shite!

"Listen," he turns his torso to you, "Should we maybe just go to my place? You wanted to talk and it's hardly possible here." Someone bangs on the window from inside, waving a fag in their hand. He lifts his brow pointedly. "Sure, let's go."

You walk through the crowd, and he picks up your hand. The music is blaring, people are chatting loudly, and you just want to stay alone with him. For a second you see Thea's face, she gives you an encouraging wink and thumbs up. OK, let's do it!

**XXX**

The drive is silent, you are looking through the window. The flowers are still on your lap, you wouldn't leave your babies in that house of debauchery. "Do you have a vase?" He smirks. "I'm sure I can conjure something."

"Where is Killian tonight?" "He went to the mansion for the weekend." And only then you realize it is Friday. You've been so dischuffed the last few days that you lost track of time. Bollocks. Are you heading to a bloke's flat on a Friday evening? It is a whole new level of awkward. If you stay over, for how long do you stay the next day? Do you spend it together? If so, who pays for the food? Bugger, that is not the main issue right now. The biggest pussychaser in the uni offered you to date him and you played tonsils hockey with his uncle several hours ago. Gain some bloody perspective, Wren!

He parks his Jag in the parkade and you take a lift upstairs. It goes all the way to the flat, and you suddenly remember why you never like to come here. Because you feel like a chav. In shonky clothes, that you were so proud of before you entered the fancy parlour. All the geometric forms and bright colours. Phil throws his jacket and keys on a small table that is probably worth more than all your belongings. "Feel yourself at home, I'll get something for the flowers," he disappears in the kitchen and you stand in the middle of the room. Bugger, jitters! You bite your lip. You are so uncomfortable that you feel like tosh.

He comes out with a tall glass trophy cup full of water. You peek at the inscription. "Killian Durinson, 1st place. Archery Competition." "Posh," you put the flowers in, and he lowers the cup on the table. You are standing in front of each other in the middle of the parlour.

"A drink?" "Maybe just some fizz. I already had my share today," he nods and stretches his hand towards you. What? You tentatively put your fingers in his large warm palm and he leads you into the kitchen. "Don't want to leave you there alone. You don't look that chuffed there." "Your painting of a giant purple penis irks me out." "It is an eggplant."

You chuckle. "It is most definitely a penis. I have seen them, they look exactly like that." He gives you a throaty chuckle. You feel better in the kitchen. It is slightly more messy, there are dirty dishes in the sink. Phil scrunches his nose. "I told him to clean up." You snicker. "You told Killian to clean up? How did you think that would play out?" "I tried to make an effort!"

He gets two glasses and pours himself some scotch, and water for you. "I get the dash, you get the splash." You click your glasses and he takes a sip. It is so fucking hot! His gorgeous curved lips close on the rim of the glass, masculine throat moves with the booze going down, and then he licks his lips. "You sure you don't want any? You are ogling my glass." "I'm not ogling the glass."

He smiles and puts the drink down. Then he takes yours and puts it down as well. And then he grabs the back of your head and pulls you in. Fuck all the deities and gods ever walking this world! You literally feel you are sagging on the floor from the intensity of this kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he picks you up, large hands under your bum. You automatically hug his waist with your legs, and he starts walking to his room.

He kicks the door open and slams your back into a brick wall of his bedroom. You moan and squeeze his tighter with your hips. He is sucking and nipping on your lips, there is just the right amount of tongue, and you scratch his nape. The orgasmic golden strands run through your fingers, and you are moaning louder.

He turns around, makes a few steps and fall backwards on the bed. You are now straddling him, his hands on your arse, and he is staring at you. You are so turn on that your hands are shaking. You dive in and attack his neck. He drops his head back and moans.

"Phil..." You move your lips to his ear and bite his lobe, "We need to talk..." "Sure, love, anything you want," his hands slide under your sweater. "It is an unpleasant conversation..." You are kissing his clavicles now in the open collar of his shirt. The dark blue definitely compliments the eyes, but you are more grateful for the buttons. You've already opened two and while you are sucking on his neck, you tread your fingers through the coarse chest hair. He groans and then suddenly sits up lifting you with him. "I am all for less talk, more bang," he grabs handfuls of your hair and pulls it back making you look into his eyes, "but maybe not this time." His eyes are serious. "Shoot, love."


	14. Chapter 14

You are sitting facing him, your legs wrapped around his waist, his shirt half open. He is supporting your back, his palms slightly rubbing your shoulder blades. You feel that telling him that you shagged his uncle in this position would be bloody inadequate. You try to climb off his lap, but he wraps his arms around your middle and looks into your eyes.

"I gather you do not object the idea of a bit of legging over with me, so what seems to be the problem?" He gently moves your hair off your face, and you nuzzle his palm. "I am worried about our history." "Hm," he hums unassumingly. "Not our history together, but the one each one of us has." "Is it about Kilian?" "What? No, why would it be about Killian?" "You dated my brother, that would freak any bloke out." "Does it freak you out?" "No, but only because I know that nothing happened. And you both hated it." "See, that is what freaks me out. You are so homey with each other, the whole sharing thing..." "I do not share my stuff with him!" "I mean information. Does he tell you everything?" "Pretty much," he shrugs. Bloody hell, he really doesn't see that it's barmy.

"Do you tell him everything?" "I pass knowledge and wisdom." "Eww, no, don't continue," you lean back and look at his face. "What did he tell you about us?" "That you both weren't into it, and you are great at snogging, but you didn't end up deflorating him." "What?! He is a virgin?" "That's a complicated matter." "Eww again. Not important right now, but really?" He smirks and kisses your jaw. "You were saying..."

You sigh. "I am not worried about your history either, don't get me wrong," you touch his skin in the collar of the shirt and stroke the thick chesthair there. It is surprisingly dark and harsh. "I do not particularly enjoy to be number two hundred something in this bed, but I don't judge..." He bumps your jaw with his nose, and you look into his eyes. "Wren, I mean, if I could I would probably…" he stumbles over his words, as if surprised to be saying it himself, "I would take it all back, if I could start from..." You silence him with a kiss. You suddenly feel like crying. The Phil you know doesn't regret his record, the Phil you know is proud of it, he brags and reminisce. The guy under your hands is remorseful, vulnerable, he will be heartbroken, when you tell him… You shush your thoughts and concentrate on the kiss. God, he is so bloody good!

After a few moments of steamy getting off couple more of his buttons are open and your jeans are unzipped. He pushes you away and pants, "You should really hurry up with your unpleasant conversation, love." You realize you are still wearing your glasses and take them off. They are too foggy anyways. You blink a few times and look into his eyes. He chuckles. "What?" "Nothing," he shakes his head and then kisses you again. This time it is gentle, chaste, and you lean in, his hands gently stroking your back.

"I want to try," you are whispering into his lips. "What?" He is whispering too for no reason. He presses his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes. "This.. Us..." "That is very good news," he catches your mouth again.

"But," you slightly push him away, "we have to agree that whatever happened before happened before. We are starting from a scratch now, right?" "Yep," he pops the last sound.

"Phil, that night at the swamp..." He was lowering his lips to your neck, and he halts. "Wren, I really don't need to know." "No, you do," your cheeks are burning. "It was your uncle." He is frozen under your hands. And then he moves you off his lap and you plop on the bed ungracefully. "The fuck?! Uncle John?!"

"Yes," what else can you say? He jumps up on his feet and stands in front of you. "You are kidding me! No, just fucking no. He doesn't sleep with women." "What?!" "There was this drama many years ago… I mean he doesn't sleep with normal women, just some expensive escort service. Like he has as a doxy or something..." Oh yeah, that… "Nonetheless..." "You slept with Uncle John?! What the fuck, Wren?"

He is staring at you and then he sits back on the bed near you. "How long?" "What?" "For how long have you been sleeping with him?" "It was a one-off thing that night. We didn't even… I mean… Not much..." You cheeks are blushing painfully, and you are mumbling.

"Phil, we just agreed that past is past, I only told you this since he is family..." "Fuck it, Wren, obviously he is family! How do you imagine Christmas dinners now?" "To be honest, Christmas dinners were the last thing I thought about." He shakes his head. "That was very low of you, Wren." What the actual fuck?!

"It has nothing to do with you. It is just my past. It happened and it's done." "Is it now? How did you feel when he was giving you the Yamataki money? Did that feel like he is in the past?" His eyes are angry and pained. "It was endlessly uncomfortable, but I mean we are civilized people." Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He gets up and starts pacing around the room. "To be honest, sweetheart, that totally squashed any drive I had in me." "You slept with Thea, I got over it." That is actually a very good argument. Point Wren. You get up and hug him from behind. He doesn't fight it.

"That is part of the whole thing, Phil. There will be always past, and there will be someone you will be worried about." You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. Since he is not stopping you, you rub your cheeks in his back and splay your hands on his stomach. "Like I will sometimes think that at least a half of those two hundred women you shagged were better than me..." "Don't be fucking ridiculous..." "Why not? It is true. More experienced, more flexible, better boobs..." He turns in your arms and cups your face. "That is bullshit..." "Is it?" "I love your boobs! Well, whatever I managed to catch glimpse of the other night..." You press your palms into his short beard and rub his cheeks with your thumbs. "Then let's just forget all this shite and go for it."

He smiles. "Go for it?" "Yeah," you smile in return, stand on your tippy toes and kiss him. He treads his fingers in your hair and sighs into your mouth. "Let's try..."


	15. Chapter 15

After that, it is all hot and steamy. He picks you up and throws you on the bed. You pull your sweater off, and he sheds his shirt. He presses you into the sheets, and it is magnificent! Hot, hard muscles, not a hint of fat, he is covered in rough golden hair, and it rubs you just the right way! The dark copper beard are sliding down to your stomach, scorching lips, and skillful tongue. He pulls your denim off and unbuttons his jeans. He is kneeling between your spread legs on the bed. "God, you are gorgeous..." You lift a brow. "Such a beautiful ickle thing!" He strokes your stomach and cups your breast. You arch into his hand.

"Light blue is definitely your colour, love," he is kissing your ribs and you tread your fingers into his mane. You feel his tongue dive under the waist of your thongs, and then he grabs them with his teeth and pulls them off. "Manwhore." He smirks and twirls them on his finger. "Fair enough, and yet you are here." You lift your arms to him, and he smiles. The jeans fly off and he stretches on top of you.

He covers your body with sucks and nips, and you are moaning. He gently bites your hipbone and you cry out. Then his lips are between your legs, and you cry out again. "You are quite a screamer, aren't you, sweetheart?" Oh bloody fuck, that is hot! He definitely knows what he is doing. And then he adds a finger, and you come with a coarse scream. Wow, that was quick!

He is still wearing his pants. He is sitting on the floor between your legs dangling from the bed. He picks up one foot and kisses the arch. "I stay corrected, these are the sexiest little feet I have ever seen," he starts moving up, placing little hot kisses on his way. When he is above your mound again, you grab handfuls of his hair and pull. "Don't even go there again," he smirks and blows gently on your sensitive folds. You jerk. "Condom?" He lies near you and slides his hand under the bed. "Ugh..." "What?" "Nothing."

He rolls over you and looks into your eyes. "Past is the past, right?" His eyes are almost begging. "Yes," you nod decisively and open your palm. He puts a square package on it, and you roll you two over again.

His hands are on your breasts and he is gently rubbing the nipples with his thumbs. "They are glorious..." You smile and lower your lips on his neck, then chest, nuzzling the hair, the stomach and then you press your cheek onto his cock. He hisses. You hook your fingers over the waist of the pants and pull them off.

My oh my, your previous estimations were even too modest. There is an exception for any rule, and that is one of them. In his case height really doesn't matter. He lifts his torso and catches your mouth. "Wren..." You smile in his wide blue eyes. He cups you face and frowns. "Can we skip the verbal part, love? I'm going to explode here." You roll out a condom on him and pull him on top of yourself.

He pushes into you, and you cry out again. He stretches you painfully, and you have to press your palms in his chest to halt him. You are breathing heavily, and he looks into your eyes. "Give me a moment..." He is kissing your neck, and your walls clench. "God, you are too tight…" His mouth is on yours, and the kisses are slow and gentle. You breath easier, and he is moving. Long deep strokes, and you are lifting your hips towards him, meeting him, your hands splayed on his shoulders, his face pressed in your neck. You come again.

He continues to move, lets you ride your release, then he thrusts faster, deeper, and you are arching your back, each push evicts a sharp cry out of you. Your body is burning, your blood singing, you feel like a musical instrument in the hands of a genius. He lifts his torso on one arm and the new angle makes you thrash. He is thrusting into you, murmuring your name, his hand grasping your hip. His movements are soon jerky, and he comes, falling on you, moaning.

You both spend a few seconds, panting and shaking, and you start giggling. "What?" His voice is muffled, him mouth probably full of your curls. "I don't know..." you giggle more. He lifts his head and then suddenly groan. "You are choking me, sweetheart. Have mercy!' That makes you laugh ever more and he pulls out with a moan.

He falls on his back and you lie down near him. You are surprisingly comfortable with him. That is usually the moment when you really don't know what to do with yourself. You press your lips into his shoulder, and he turns and returns you kiss. Then he sits up. "I'm gonna go clean up, and you enjoy…" He vaguely waves his hand. "Postcoital bliss?" "Yes, that..." He treads to the bathroom, and you are enjoying the view. My oh my, those buttocks will visit you in many many dreams from now on!

There is the noise of running water, and he yells, "Do you want a bath, love?" Ooh, it actually sounds really good. He comes back, apparently completely comfortable with being in the buff. Good for him! And good for you, definitely. Yum. "I would offer you the tackiest of cliches of champagne in the bath but since you don't drink," he stretches on the bed on his stomach, and kisses you, "we'll have ice cream."

**XXX**

The bathtub is huge, the water is just the right temperature, and you are sharing a bowl of ice cream. The silence is comfortable, he feeds you, you are drawing patterns on his leg under water. "That is surprisingly easy," you hum neither agreeing, not objecting. "Maybe there is something in the whole monogamy thing." You turn and lying on his chest you look into his eyes.

"Don't you think you are judging too early? One shag is definitely not a very good sample," he presses the bowl to your nape, and you yelp. "Don't ruin my afterglow," he is laughing. "But seriously, I can do that forever," you take the spoon away from him and scoop some for him. You move it to his lips and he closes his lips over it. Hot, hot, hot! Common, Wren, you just shagged, where is this randiness coming from? You sit up near him and feed his another spoonful. "Have you ever had serious relationships, love?" "Not really, had a boyfriend in high school. But it was just... childish." "So it is the first for both of us. That won't end well," he is laughing. That white toothed grin just does something to you! Something very indecent...

You pounce on him and he catches you, the bowl sinking in the hot water. You are straddling him again, and he is kissing your temple. "I am done with the bath..." He is murmuring and gets up with you in his hands. That is fucking impressive. "Show off!" "And you like it."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Alrighty, my lovelies! This is how we are going to roll: this chapter will be the last one. I feel like this story will end very organically like that. But since I'm not ready to say goodbye to my babies, the sequel is on, Watson! "Strike the Cord", how is that for a title? :)**

**At the end, Dr. Dark and Sexy won 31 to 21 and will make his glorious return in the second story. I have overcome my temporal Fili madness and saw the light again. Common, he is the one! We all know how good they can be together, she was made for him (literally:) Oh, where do you think all reincarnations of Wren get their unhealthy love for puns? :) **

**I so much enjoyed your participation, my lovelies (it is effing addictive!), so I'm considering setting up some sort of an interactive thing in the next story as well. Not voting again (do not want to bore you with the same old thing), but I will delegate plenty of control over the story to you.**

**Thank you all! I love you!**

You wake up late in the morning and decide to have a lie-in. Eventually the day doesn't involve that much lying, you do move a lot, except when he orders food, and insists to pay for it, chauvinistic pig, and when you try to watch telly. "Watchmen" is quite a long film, but you manage to stretch it for ten hours, pausing, getting distracted, then going back to it. Three times you don't even have time to pause it, one of you already biting and kissing some sensitive part of the other one. You fall back into the sheets, and one of you rasps, "Bloody hell, we have to rewind again." You have never shagged that much in one day in your life.

You are lying on his chest, and he is staring at the ceiling, his fingers playing with your hair. "Wren?" "Hm..." "One last thing." "Are you kicking me out?" You yawn. "What?! Bloody hell, you and your jokes." "You love my jokes." He tenses for a second, weirdly silent, "Yeah, I do." You lift your face not quite understanding his mood. He is not looking at you.

"Is something wrong?" He blinks and the strange expression is gone. "No, of course not," he smiles to you and strokes your cheek with his fingers. "Sorry, sweet, got lost in my thoughts." You kiss his palm, and he frowns.

"About my uncle..." You freeze. "Will it be weird when we go home and he is there? Because I want to go visit mom with you. She'll be super excited," you sit up pressing a sheet to your chest. "It won't be weird. Like I said, it just was sort of an… impulsive weird thing," that is the shittiest bullshit ever, Wren, "I hid in his tent and we mostly just slept..." "You did what?" His brows hike up. "I went to pee, and… Do we really need to talk about it?" "I'd like to have no surprises later."

Then you are bloody dating the wrong girl. You sigh and stare at your hands. "I went to pee, freaked out when something grabbed me, it was a bloody root as it turned out, and I hid in his tent. We made out a bit, and… that's it." He is looking at your attentively. "And that's it?" "Yeah," at least that is all that is important. Whom are you fucking kidding, Wren...

You exhale and hating yourself you proceed digging your grave. You intertwine your fingers with his and, leaning in, you kiss him. "You said it yourself, he is not interested in women," you slide down his torso, "and it won't be weird, he might not even remember me." Curse you, Wren…

You lick his stomach, and he sighs. His cock jerks under the covers. The conversation is over. Yes, inner voice Wren, shut it and suck it up. Eww, this pun did not go where it was supposed to… You give him a long lick, and he exhales sharply. You cut his testcales and slide him into your mouth. That is a new low for your, Wren…

**XXX**

He falls asleep, wrapped around you, and you are staring at the ceiling this time. You feel funny. There is no other word for it. You know you should feel bloody miserable and hate yourself, after all you lied to him about John, and then used your impressive "verbal" skills, his phrase not yours, you are not responsible for this stupid pun, to distract him.

But you don't. You feel justified. You made a decision, and now you protect what is yours. Phil is what you want here and now. The past doesn't matter, hypotheticals can go and bugger off. You feel territorial, like momma lioness defending her golden cub. No, that analogy just went really in the wrong direction, with the whole Oedipus thing… Yuck. You shake your head and nest in his arms. He pulls you closer and his sleep, and murmurs in your neck. You close your eyes and feel absolutely content.

**XXX**

You are dreaming, and it is one of those dreams when you know it's not real, but it is so good that you are desperately clawing at it, trying to stay in the bliss for just a bit longer.

It is Summer, you are lying on the grass, and you know it's the Durinson mansion. It smells like those merry blue flowers in Deandre's garden, and you are spread on a soft blanket. The sun is caressing your nose, and it feels impossible to open your eyes. At the same time, you see yourself from outside, relaxed and spread like a starfish, some light dress bunched up mid thigh, and your hair is splayed like a nimbus around your face. It is peace… His fingers touch your wrist, and your hand curls up. You hear a low chuckle, and a pair of hot lips is pressed on the tender skin there. You twitch your fingers, and then promptly grab the long nose. He chuckles again and twist out of your grip.

His hot palm slides across your stomach, and he is kissing your shoulder. The hair tickles your neck, and you lazily batter it away. The lips are now on your clavicles. "I am sleeping here..." "No, you are not, you are talking..." the low velvet voice is full of laughter, and then his lips are on yours. The beard is scratching, familiar but still exciting feeling, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You open your eyes and stare into the blue irises. The mischief in them is glinting, and the crow's feet make him look somehow younger. The thick black lashes flutter, and he leans in for another kiss.

You tread you fingers into the glorious silky mane, and his weight is on you. "Should we be snogging like teenagers in your sister's garden?" "It's just you and I here..." He smiles and you have never seen him so beautiful before, careless and contented, white teeth gleaming and eyes hidden behind the lashes.

You wake up with a jerk in Phil's bedroom and grab handfuls of your hair. Fuck.


End file.
